Tomorrow, Never Yesterday
by missmerrymak
Summary: Because your sacrifice isn't worth the gain, Jenny. Why don't you join the party?


_a/n: So, I don't think I've ever written anything this deep, that was worth publishing anyway. But I hope you like it and tell me what you think about it :)_

_Also, this story is based off of the song "Dead Sea" by The Lumineers, so I suggest you listen to the song to really get what's going on._

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She looked out of her office window and sighed-it was snowing. Not that this was a surprise to her since it had been snowing all day. The white flakes were coming down thick, sticking firmly to the ground and accumulating quickly. It was a beautiful sight that she often found herself gazing at but at this particular moment she just wanted to be distracted and found nothing enticing in its beauty. She felt almost numbed she had been staring at it for so long. Maybe it was the jumbled thoughts in her head or maybe the cold emanating from the window had finally gotten to her, she didn't know and could barely care to think any deeper into it.

The effort to distract herself, however, was interrupted by the soft click of her office door. Closing her eyes briefly she mentally prepared herself for the storm to come because only one person could walk into her office on New Year's Eve wanting to talk, not that he did much of that anyway. "Roads slippery as hell, people drinking, nice night for some car accidents huh Director?" He asked and she flinched involuntarily, not realizing how close he actually had gotten to her, having been facing the window. And she would have chuckled at that-because she had just been thinking the same thing-had he not used her title. Without turning around she leaned just a little heavier on the cold window sill and looked down on the nearly empty roads below.

"What do you want agent Gibbs?" She asked with a hint of unnerving weariness in her tone that made Gibbs pause for a moment but only a moment.

"New Year's Eve, thought you'd be down at the party." He observed in an almost interrogative manner that made her _so_ angry. He had no right to come in here and start questioning her like she had done something _wrong_. Deciding that he wasn't worth her anger, though, she remained cool headed and turned around to look at him. It shouldn't have surprised her that he was staring at her with such intensity, like he was penetrating her very thoughts, but it did. And she knew that he hadn't come up here to invite her down to watch the ball drop in New York. She tried her hardest to remain relaxed and appear in control when in reality the situation was quickly spiraling out of her control and into his. Though Gibbs's demeanor tried to make it look like a casual conversation, his eyes told her this was an interrogation and his eyes have never lied, not when she was a probie, not in Paris and definitely not now.

"I'd rather not." She admitted and that was partly the truth. As Director, the whole atmosphere of the party would change if she made an appearance. But if she laughed a little more, smiled a little more or even talked to her agents a little more she would have loved to go down there and celebrate with them. New Year's Eve was one of her favorite times of the year. But this was the one party of the year where her agents had _fun_; she didn't want to make it awkward.

"How about a drink then?" He asked but didn't wait for a response as he walked to her liquor cabinet. She sighed softly and dropped her hands to her side, giving up her foolish idea to protest. She had prided herself in not having a drink yet tonight but right now a drink sounded like the thing she needed to get her through the night.

She knew she had been drinking too much lately, hell even her secretary knew it. But she was a hair away from bringing down the frog-legal or not-and the stress was not only giving her a few gray hairs but a new heightened desire for that amber paint stripper Gibbs had, ruefully, gotten her hooked on. She accepted the glass when he held it out to her and had barely taken a sip when he spoke again without having even touched his. "What are you doing up here Jenny?" That caught her off guard. He had said it so _painfully_ that it actually made her heart ache. But she kept up her cool façade making sure none of what her heart was feeling slipped onto her face.

"I'm watching the last minutes of this year tick away." She supplied easily as she glanced at her analog clock. He obviously wasn't buying it and, honestly, neither was she. He took a sip of his bourbon and she took the opportunity to take a larger one of hers, almost draining the glass. If he was concerned with her behavior lately, he didn't show it. With a sigh she sat down in her chair, clutching her bourbon like it was a life line and that worried him. Moments passed with no words between them but what wasn't being said meant the most. He sauntered up to her desk but didn't say anything yet, just observed.

Unlike what she obviously thought by her guarded demeanor, he wasn't there to interrogate her. He was there because she had been drinking excessive amounts of bourbon and obsessing over Rene Benoit while she sat in the dark with that same look of pure anger and determination in her gaze that made him worry about her. He had dropped little hints here and there about his concern over her behavior but now he knew it was almost too late to get through to her. He didn't say much but then again he didn't have to. However he wondered if even a neon sign would get through to her while she was so deep into her "game".

"La Grenouille." He stated and watched as her eyes visibly widened if only momentarily. She didn't say anything as her eyes set like stones and her mouth became a contempt line. He knew he had crossed a line but this was just the beginning. "You close to bringing him down?" He asked curiously and she suddenly refused to look him in the eye. Her gaze traveled anywhere but him and taking a breath she sat up straighter and finally met his gaze. She refused to be interrogated by him and stood her ground firmly, albeit slightly hesitantly he noticed and wondered if even she did.

"That's none of your business agent Gibbs." She snapped dully before taking a sip of her bourbon. He noted how her hand shook. He walked closer to her desk.

"Jen." He sighed almost pleadingly. That was the final straw for her. Violently she stood up and slammed her bourbon down on the table.

"You cannot just come into my office on New Year's eve for God's sake Jethro and interrogate me! My business is my business! I don't go asking you about Pedro Hernandez do I?" She bellowed angrily but the second she said it she knew she had crossed a line. His face darkened but—to her surprise—quickly softened again.

"No…you don't." He admitted stuffing his hands in his pockets. She watched hesitantly as he just stood there, thinking. It almost scared her the way he was so calm about all of this. With something in between a huff and a scoff she turned to the window and leaned heavily on the sill.

"Just go." She sighed. Right now she did not want to deal with him and his intervention or whatever this was. All she wanted to do was drink her troubles away. Couldn't he at least allow her that? He hadn't moved and she knew it.

"Let's go down to the party." He urged and she sighed, shaking her head firmly.

"I'd rather be miserable _alone_ than with other people Jethro. You should understand that." She ground out. It almost hurt her to be saying these things to Gibbs but if it was going to make him leave she would do it. Suddenly, he was by her side and his hands were on her shoulders as he slowly led her out of her office. Surprising herself, she walked with him and saw in the bull pen as they walked down the stairs Tony, Abby, and Ziva, who had apparently left the party. He led her quietly down the stairs and she could feel their eyes on her but right now she could honestly care less. However, knowing her eyes were blood shot from the crying she hadn't been letting herself do made her _really _not want to go down there. She was their leader, she couldn't be weak.

Noticing her hesitation he stopped her near the base of the stairs, his arm still around her shoulder. She was surprised he had walked down the stairs like that, in front of them. Then he pulled her close into a warm hug and she finally broke down. The tears soaked her cheeks and probably his jacket too. She clutched at his lapels and tried taking deep breaths as he rubbed her back but they just came out choppy. This was the first time she had really let herself cry over her father's death and everything in between. It felt…good. He just stood there whispering soothing things into her hair as he kissed the top of her head. She was too distraught to quote any of his damn rules. Though there was one against apologizing, there wasn't one against crying-however, anyone who'd heard of his rules would expect there to be one because "weak" was not in Jethro Gibbs's vocabulary. And usually it wasn't in Jenny's either.

She wondered if they knew she was standing with Gibbs and crying into his shirt. Most likely they did. But she just couldn't bring herself to care right now. When her crying finally ceased he gently pulled her away and looked her in the eye. Though he'd never been particularly good with crying women, there were only two that he knew how to deal with; Jenny was one. She looked back at him, tear tracks staining her cheeks which were flushed red to match her blood shot eyes. Her expression told him that she was waiting for him to say something—anything. So he did. "Feel better?" He asked quietly and sniffling, she slowly unhooked his lapels from her grip and nodded. He could tell that this was out of her comfort zone. Throughout the years he's known her, not once has she cried outwardly or in front of him. It was the lost look that's been in her eyes for a while now that prompted him to say something. "Jen—let 'em go." He whispered which just made her cry harder. Sighing, he pulled her back into his chest. Jenny's heart wrenching sobs made his heart ache. He looked down at her. Her hair had slipped out of its clip and was hanging messily at her shoulders, the clip buried somewhere in there. She hid herself in his chest again and though her crying had slowly subsided she kept her head pressed firmly against him. He kept hugging her and pressing his cheek onto the top of her head.

"I can't." She whispered bitterly into his chest, her breath hitching at the end. He pulled her back just enough so he could look her in the eye.

"You can." He assured. "-because it's not worth it." He whispered back and she nodded, choking on another sob as she inhaled sharply. Though his statement was hypocritical in her eyes she understood its meaning.

She had more things at stake now that just her sanity. Things she didn't want to lose. Things-that if she lost-wouldn't be there anymore to convince her not to throw her life away with a bullet and a gun. She took a breath and looked at him—_really_ looked at him. On his shoulders she could see the weight of their deaths there. In his hands she could see the world he built in his basement to keep the demons out and his memories in. But behind his blue eyes she could see the guilt. Then she looked at herself and realized that the only thing dividing them was a bullet. And suddenly she realized what he was trying to tell her. She had survived—no—thrived; this long and she could do it for another hundred years if she had to. He'd realized it long ago. She hadn't until now. She was stronger than him. She had persevered and he had floundered. He didn't want her to flounder—he wanted her to keep on thriving.

Because he was her dead sea.


End file.
